


The Sun Hasn't Set

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I feel like there should be but heck if I can find it, Is there a trope/tag for 'bandaging each other up?', M/M, Post-Season/Series 07, ah well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:12:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: Post-battle, Shiro and Keith help patch each other up.For Yallstari and Sheithlentines





	The Sun Hasn't Set

The door to Shiro’s quarters opened on their own as he approached.  The inside was dim, illuminated by only the lamp next to the couch. The lack of glare was a relief to the fierce throbbing behind Shiro’s eyes.

“Seems like Atlas has an opinion where you go,” Keith murmured softly.  His voice was ragged, scrapped raw from all the yelling he’d done that evening.  It matched the ache in Shiro’s own throat and the bone deep exhaustion that followed.

It had been a long day.  Between Atlas and Voltron, supported by the MFEs, fights tended to be shorter than when they’d begun fighting the Galra.  They now had the manpower to stomp down on threats that would have once stonewalled the lions.

Once in awhile, though, the universe conspired to remind them it wasn’t safe.  There were always new threats. There were always fights they weren’t prepared for.  They could be taken off guard, outgunned, outnumbered. For every enemy they defeated, a more dangerous one lurked.

Shiro should know better than to let his guard down.

“Apparently so,” he replied, rubbing over his face.  His fingers brushed the gash just under his hairline, but he resisted a flinch.  “I have supplies in the bathroom and Atlas can get anything else we’ll need.”

“Good.”  With that, Keith stepped around Shiro.  His stiff gait almost hid his limp. “Sit down.  I’ll grab your kit.”

Shiro sighed and followed after.  “Keith, let me get it. There’s an ice pack in the freezer, we should get it on your knee as soon as possible.”

Rather than answer, Keith stopped suddenly and turned around.  His jaw was set, and his gaze direct as he met Shiro’s eyes.

The implication was clear.   _ I won’t have this fight again. _

Shiro clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders.  “I have a bump on the head. You crash landed. I can wait.”

Keith still didn’t respond.  He only continued to stare, bracing one palm on the bathroom doorway.

He didn’t need to argue.  Shiro knew exactly what he’d say.  It was the same back and forth they’d had after every battle since Atlas launched into space.  Half a dozen times, no matter the level of injury, Keith wanted to look after Shiro first. Only then could he relax enough to let himself be seen to.

Which was  _ unfair. _  Keith was the one who had actually been injured in the fight.  Shiro had just been knocked off his feet when canon fire hit their shielding.  Smacking his head on a counter shouldn’t come before impacting a planet’s surface at speed.  It was disgusting to be fussed over when Keith had suffered worse.

If Shiro had his way, he’d be patching up his own bruises anyway.  He still tensed at any scrutiny to his injuries or weaknesses. It had started at the Garrison, fueled by the knowledge that all his mistakes or fumbles would be measured against his illness. Then he’d been captured, and that fear had become downright obsessive.

Keith was safe.  Keith had never judged him.  Keith wouldn’t use his weakness to hurt him.

Keith was still staring and waiting.  Still standing on his bruised knee, with no signs of stopping until he won this contest of wills.

Shiro sighed and dropped his gaze first.  “Alright. Go fast. I’m fine.”

“Ever hear of the boy who cried wolf?”  Despite his words, Keith only looked satisfied.  He gestured for Shiro to sit down on his bed, then ducked into the bathroom.

“I’m telling the truth.”

“So was the boy, the last time.”

Shiro huffed and rolled his eyes.  “Hypocrite.” Then, out of stubborn defiance, he turned back around and fetched the ice pack and a towel from his kitchen.

When he came back, Keith was just stepping out of the bathroom.  He took one look at Shiro’s supplies and arched a brow, but otherwise didn’t comment.  Instead he pointed yet again to the bed. This time, Shiro obeyed.

Sitting down to his right, Keith pushed Shiro’s bangs out of his face to better peer at the side of his head.  The very tips of his fingers brushed along the edge of the gash, drawing a hiss from Shiro.

“Sorry.”  Keith paused but didn’t move away.  This close, his breath puffed out hot against Shiro’s cheek.

“You’re fine.”  Shiro stared at the far wall rather than look at Keith’s face so close to his own.  If he ignored it, maybe his heart would slow down, and he’d stop being so hyperaware of each brush of Keith’s fingers.  He was checking his injuries.

Shiro stayed stiff, despite the urge to curl away from the intense scrutiny.  Having Keith so close to his face was like being under a spotlight. Little gestures he tried to hide - the way his eyes wandered along Keith’s jaw, or how his fingers twitched to touch the long strands of hair - were displayed.

Keith had made it exceedingly clear where they stood.  Multiple times, now. Shiro was going to respect that. On top of everything else he was dealing with, Keith didn’t need to worry about leading him on, or anything equally ridiculous.

“How’s your vision?” Keith asked, voice softer now.  Even so, Shiro’s head gave a new throb at the noise. “Seeing double?”

“I don’t have a concussion.”  Shiro tried not to move his head, but the gentle brush of Keith’s fingers sent shock waves through him.  It was difficult to hold still and not lean into the touch. But by now, he was practiced at holding back.

Keith snorted.  “Would a doctor agree?”

Shiro’s gaze cut to his, lips pressed thin.  “Yes.” Probably. Either way, he wouldn’t be seeing a doctor if he could help it.

There was silence in response, but Keith seemed to let it go.  Instead, he pulled over the first aid kit and opened a disinfectant wipe.  He dabbed over the gash, ignoring Shiro’s hiss.

While he was distracted, Shiro took the towel-wrapped ice pack and set it firmly on Keith’s knee.

Jolting, Keith looked down, then arched a brow at Shiro.  “That’s cold.” There was a hint of a laugh to his voice, the only giveaway of their years-old joke.

Back then, Keith had been small and furious, practically bubbling over with energy and frustration he couldn’t contain.  He wanted to badly to do well at the Garrison, yearned for the stars and sky as deeply as Shiro did. But the other cadets and the very structure of the Garrison tried to confine him down into something smaller.  Eventually, almost inevitably, Keith would break, and a punch would get thrown.

The first time it happened, once he retrieved Keith from his dressing down, Shiro had applied an ice pack to his bruised eye.  Keith had nearly fallen out of his chair at the first touch, and shot Shiro a wounded look.  _ “That’s cold,” _ he’d said, in the tone of someone terribly betrayed.

Shiro’s lips quirked up, just as they had then.  “Ice is generally cold, yes,” he said, finishing the reference.

Keith cracked a full smile and ducked his head.  “You never could help fussing.” Despite that, he let the ice pack stay on his knee, though both of his hands were too busy to help hold it down.  Shiro did it for him, holding it firmly in place while Keith continued to dab.

“Not when someone needed my help,” he said, letting his eyes fall closed.

There was silence again, but comfortable.  Familiar. Shiro let himself settle, shoulders slowly relaxing despite the pain as his gash was cleaned.  It hurt, but in a way Shiro could handle. It was harder to ignore Keith’s palm against the side of his head and the fingers gently pushing his bangs out of the way.

When Keith pulled back, a chill ran through Shiro, as if the hands had been keeping him warm.  Ignoring that, he blinked his eyes open, and saw clear, intense eyes just inches from his own. Shiro froze utterly.  He didn’t even breathe, not when Keith would be able to feel his breath on his face.

Another shiver went down Shiro’s spine, this one decidedly more pleasant but less acceptable.

“That’s as good as it’s going to get,” Keith said, finally pulling back.  “Not without stitches.”

“It’s fine,” Shiro said automatically.  “If it comes to that, I’ll use a pod or something.  Now, let’s see to you. Pants off.”

The order was joking, though the need was real.  It was still fun to see Keith’s eyes go wide and his shoulders stiffen, even if Shiro’s stomach twisted wistfully.  

“Right.”  Keith’s voice came out tighter.  Even now, he was protective of his vulnerabilities, it seemed.  Shiro couldn’t really complain, not when he was just as bad. Despite the reluctance in his voice, Keith obeyed and stripped off his armor.  

Shiro pushed off the bed and settled between Keith’s bare knees to get a better look.  His hands settled naturally on Keith’s calves, and it took serious willpower to keep from stroking.  There was no way that wouldn’t be creepy, even if Shiro only meant to soothe.

The twisted knee was obvious.  It was red and larger than the other, though the ice before may have helped bring down a bit of the swelling.  Dark shadows of color were starting to appear. Tomorrow this would be colorful.

“Go ahead and find the anti-inflammatory in that kit,” Shiro said, looking up at Keith through his bangs.  “You’ll need them.”

“Hm?”  Keith blinked rapidly, then nodded.  “Ah, yeah. You too.”

“After I’m done, promise.”

Keith grunted his agreement and dug out a small bottle of pills.  He checked the label, then shook out two into his palm and swallowed them dry.

One brow up, Shiro eyed him flatly.  “I could have gotten you water.”

“Eh.”

This wasn’t a fight worth having.  Shiro shook his head and tried not to feel fond at Keith’s impatience.  These days it was far more subtle. It was a sign of how far gone he was that Shiro only found it endearing.

Keith offered the bottle with a shake, but Shiro waved it away.  He’d take his with water and avoid that stuck feeling in his chest, thanks so much.  Instead, he gently rested the tips of his fingers over Keith’s knee. The flesh was feverish under his touch.

Jolting, Keith ground his teeth and closed his eyes.

Shiro frowned at him.  “Be honest. Do you think it’s broken?”

“I walked here on my own, so no,” Keith said, speaking through his teeth.  “Just sore. Go ahead and check.”

Reluctantly, Shiro ran his fingers over the area.  He was careful to keep his touch light as he could and still get a feel for the bones below.  Through it all, Keith stayed stiff, lips pressed thin, but he didn’t jerk or cry out at any one particular area.

Tomorrow this would be even worse for sure, and it definitely needed ice and elevation. But, like Shiro’s head, it would keep.

“Okay,” Shiro said, patting Keith’s other knee warmly.  “Nothing doctor worthy there, unless tomorrow you can’t walk.  What about the rest of you?”

Keith shook his head.  “All good.”

“You smashed into Black’s console and got off with just a jammed knee?”

A twitch ran through Keith’s jaw.  Then he sighed and pulled down the top of his flight suit, enough to reveal the red mark running from his shoulder to halfway up his neck.  “I landed on the levers,” he said flatly. “It shows, but it doesn’t even hurt. Maybe a bruise tomorrow. My ribs are fine, I checked them first.”

All that was good, but Shiro could barely hear it.  His eyes traced the red line, up Keith’s broad shoulders, along the pale line of his neck.  At his angle, it almost blended into the now old red scar over Keith’s cheek.

When Shiro only stared, Keith frowned at him.  “What? You okay?”

Slowly, vaguely, Shiro pushed himself to his feet, then leaned over Keith. He registered, vaguely, that his whole body was so close to Keith’s, who was still wearing boxers instead of his pants.  He’d be mortified of that later, and terrified of what impression it gave Keith. But right now, he only had eyes for that scar.

Finally, his fingers touched down on the discolored flesh, just as gently as he’d inspected the bruised knee.

Keith’s breath caught.  He froze utterly under Shiro, eyes wide.

The silence held between them.

It was Shiro who broke it.  “I’m sorry,” he said, quiet and from deep in his chest.  “Keith, I’m sorry.”

Keith shook his head, so slowly it didn’t dislodge Shiro’s fingers.  “It wasn’t you.”

“I know, it was the clone, but-”

“No, I don’t mean that.”  Keith hesitated, then wrapped his fingers around Shiro’s hand, carefully pulling his fingers away.  “The clone was you. But it was Haggar in his - your - head. She was controlling you. She was hurting you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Shiro swallowed hard, his hand shaking in Keith’s grasp.  “It doesn’t matter. I hurt you. I hurt you while you were saying-”  He cut off, but too late the hide the ache in his voice.

Keith had said he loved Shiro.  As a brother, but he’d said it.

“I did,” Keith said, with that calm certainty he’d gained while with his mother.  “But you didn’t want to. And you stopped. When I said that, you stopped. It mattered to you, even when you were under Haggar’s control.  That says more to me than any number of scars.”

Shiro’s breath shook.  He swallowed hard, trying to hold back the complicated swell of emotions that wanted to crawl out of him.  “Maybe it shouldn’t,” he finally said. “How many times is it going to take for you to get tired of taking care of me.”

Stilling, Keith stared at Shiro like he’d completely lost the plot.  “Never. Not when you do this.” He patted the ice pack.

Something in Shiro’s chest cracked. He felt his expression start to crumple in, no matter how hard he fought it.   “Keith, that’s so little. You’re worth so much more than an ice pack.”

“Not-” Keith sighed.  “Not the  _ literal _ ice pack, Shiro.  The care. The moments in between.  Maybe I’ve saved you in big ways, but you save me in little ones every day.  From the first time we met, you’ve given me what I needed. At the Garrison that was support, or an outlet, or a guide.  Then with Voltron it’s been encouragement, seeing more in me but letting it do it my way. Giving me freedom when I needed it, even when it meant leaving.  You made it  _ okay _ to leave, because I’d have a home here.”  

Shiro stared back, stunned not only at the volume of words, but the sincerity.  For all he was usually the wordy one, he couldn’t think of a response. If he could have, he wasn’t sure his mouth was working anymore.  All of him was frozen in place, except for his clamoring heart.

Keith smiled, small and unsure.  It fell apart quickly. “So no. I won’t get sick of it.  We’re even. And I don’t really want to be counting saving and being saved on a mental chalkboard.  That sounds exhausting. I just want to help take care of you because I care about you. Because I- you know.  What I said. You don’t have to... feel that way. But it’s true.”

That was what finally broke through.  Shiro grabbed onto Keith’s arm, heart cracking in his chest.  “Hey. I do care for you too. So much. I’m sorry I never said anything, but I-”  Shiro hesitated, but looked over Keith’s carefully guarded expression and the slump of his shoulders.  “I love you. Just not the way you described that day. That’s why I didn’t reply.”

Brows furrowed, Keith looked over Shiro’s face.  “What way I described?”

Shit.  Shiro swallowed hard around the tight band squeezing his chest.  But he couldn’t back out now, not without hurting Keith more. “I don’t- the way I feel.  It’s not like a brother. I love you, but not that way.”

It was vague, a pathetic last defense against Keith’s possible disdain.  Shiro fought to keep meeting Keith’s eyes, but finally gave in a stared down at his lap instead.

So he didn’t see it coming when Keith’s lips crashed into his.

The force pushed Shiro back a few inches.  His lips pulled away from Keith’s before he could fully register the sensation.  The impact throbbed through his wounded head, leaving him dazed for an extra moment.

Keith stared, stricken.  “I may have read that wrong,” he muttered.  His cheeks slowly grew pink, then a mortified red.  “Shit, Shiro, I’m so-”

He didn’t finish, because this time Shiro kissed him, holding onto Keith’s shoulder for balance and to not repeat the same mistakes.

This time, it worked.  This time, Shiro could appreciate Keith’s warm, soft lips brushing against his own.  Could take in the scent of him, mixed with sweat and disinfecting wipes. Could enjoy the soft little gasp breathed into his mouth before Keith fully gave himself to the kiss.

By mutual, unspoken agreement, both leaned to the side, trying to get properly onto the bed.  But the move required shifting Keith’s knee, making him hiss out, at the same moment Shiro landed on the covers.  His head jolted gently, but it was enough to make Shiro groan.

They stared at each other, both in pain, both still stunned.

Then Keith started to laugh.  A low chuckle shook him as a wide smile spread over his face.  “We’re pathetic.”

Finally, laughter bubbled in Shiro at the sheer absurdity of the situation.  “A little,” he admitted. “How much time have we wasted?”

Keith shrugged.  “I’m not sure. We can figure it out later, but I really don’t want to do that right now.”  Instead, he laid down properly on Shiro’s bed, careful not to jar his leg. Once he was settled, he offered one arm.

Smiling, Shiro scooted over and slid under Keith’s arm, wrapping his own around Keith’s waist.  It left them face to face, intimately close, and for the first time Shiro didn’t have to disguise the way his eyes darted to Keith’s lips.  It was a tiny thrill just to lose the guilt and fear. “I’m guessing this isn’t brotherly for you either.”

“Good guess.”

“Why did you say it?”

Keith arched a brow.  “Why didn’t you reply?”

Because he’d been afraid.  Afraid of losing their friendship, or changing their dynamic.  Of being vulnerable.

“Fair enough.”  Shiro kissed the tip of his nose, then his lips.  “We should talk about this, though.”

Keith sighed. “I know.  Later? Please. Let’s just enjoy this.  And sleep.”

That all sounded amazing.  Shiro nodded and tightened his arm over Keith’s waist.  He pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes.  “In the morning.”

“After breakfast.”

“Deal.”

It took Shiro a while to fall asleep.  Keith’s breathing evened out quickly, but Shiro hadn’t managed to slip off easily in years.

But as Shiro listened to Keith’s even breaths and felt the heat of his body against his own, he smiled.  It certainly beat staring at his ceiling and ignoring the worries about Voltron or Atlas.

It was the most pleasant way to fall asleep that Shiro had experienced in a long, long time.


End file.
